


Fallout

by BruisedBloodyBroken



Series: Bruised Bloody Broken - AU [4]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Aftermath, Aftermath of Possession, Aftermath of Torture, Aftermath of Violence, Caring Dean Winchester, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Hurt Sam Winchester, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Protective Dean Winchester, Sequel
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-13
Updated: 2021-03-18
Packaged: 2021-03-21 14:15:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,478
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30023043
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BruisedBloodyBroken/pseuds/BruisedBloodyBroken
Summary: The Road So Far:Sam's a hooker – at least for starters. .Dean's a hunter. Or … so to say … a retired one actually.The two meet in Sioux Falls, when Dean's looking for a hook-up at a bar called Nancy'n Fred'.Dean spotted a man there, who seemed to be right up his alley, even when he was a little tall. So they have sex a couple of times.Until Sam gets banged up pretty bad by two of his costumers and is left behind at an abandoned warehouse.Dean and Bobby drive of to look for him after his call and find him at the side of the road – messed up and all.Sam's healing. He and Dean come closer ~ their relationship evolves … they start hunting together …they go on a hunt for a witch, and it goes south.Dean and Sam are cursed, and Dean ends up torturing the hell out of the one who he loves.Eventually the curse breaks, but Sam ends up on the ICU.THAT'S WERE WE START OFF WITH THE SEQUEL "FALLOUT"I SUCK AT SUMMARIES!!!
Relationships: Dean Winchester/Sam Winchester
Series: Bruised Bloody Broken - AU [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2145744
Comments: 4
Kudos: 10





	1. Decay

**Author's Note:**

  * For [The Supernatural Fandom](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=The+Supernatural+Fandom).



> A/N: Actually ... this PART 3 has already been written ... and then my computer crashed and my stories couldn't be rescued .... So I've been pretty pissed, and thought about if I really want to rewrite this. 
> 
> So, if you read this, I probably have ... 
> 
> I also want to THANK EVERYONE who's reading this, and sticking around, and who're always there to review and give me kudos.  
> Oh, and my songs for this one are "Devil" by Alex Runo, “Monsters” by Eric Church!

**The Road So Far:**

_Sam's a hooker – at least for starters. ._

_Dean's a hunter. Or … so to say … a retired one actually._

_The two meet in Sioux Falls, when Dean's looking for a hook-up at a bar called Nancy'n Fred'._

_Dean spotted a man there, who seemed to be right up his alley, even when he was a little tall. So they have sex a couple of times._

_Until Sam gets banged up pretty bad by two of his costumers and is left behind at an abandoned warehouse. Sam manages to kill one of the men and finds a way to contact Dean when he reaches the road heading north. Dean and Bobby drive of to look for him after his call and find him at the side of the road – messed up and all._

_Sam doesn't want a hospital & authorities involved, so they get him to the Salvage. Gladly Bobby's basement is equipped with a lot of medical supplies. They reach out to Ellen Harvelle – former paramedic to give them a hand with Samuel. Sam's biological mother isn't known (yet). _

_He was raised by Jody, who vanished when Sam was 17. After that he was on his own._

_Sam's healing. He and Dean come closer ~ their relationship evolves … they start hunting together …_

_they go on a hunt for a witch, and it goes south._

_Dean and Sam are cursed, and Dean ends up torturing the hell out of the one who he loves._

_Eventually the curse breaks, but Sam ends up on the ICU._

**THEN:**

“I ...” he took a deep breath. “I'm not mad, Dean.”

Dean's face darkened. He should be mad. Angry. Furious even. Sam was supposed to want to punch him in the face, to kick his ass.

“I'm sorry.”, Sam added after an endless amount of silence between the both of them.

Dean shook his head, closed his eyes and his lips turned downwards slightly. When he opened them again, Sam was staring at the covers, an utterly sad expression playing over his face.

“Sam.” he took a breath to steady his voice, pushing back the need to break down just there and roll up in a fetal position and fucking _cry._ “There's nothing you have to be sorry for. - It's me who needs to apologize ..:” _and so much more than that._

Sam stole another look from the door. “ _ It's okay. _ ”, he said, carried away on a breath. It sounded distant and hollow. “ _ It's okay, Dean _ . _”_

Because – some day – it might be okay again …

**FALLOUT**

**Bruised Bloody Broken ~ Part 3**

**CHAPTER 1 ~ DECAY**

A couple of days turned into a week.

Dean was there every day during the visiting hours, even if he would only sit at Sam's side.

There weren't a lot of words said.

Not many touches given and only brief looks exchanged.

The hunter didn't dare to touch him again without profound reasons, after he had attempted to brush a lock of hair out of Sam's face, and the kid had cringed away before he could even get close.

Dean had hoped it wouldn't be like that. But then again, he had figured that Sam couldn't possibly come out of that okay either. How could he be?

How could anyone be?

Because it truly wasn't. This whole fucked up situation was wrong in so many ways.

Not only for Sam, but also for Dean.

_This whole situation was a mess._ The hunter had no clue how to approach the kid, nor how to start an acceptable dialogue. Somehow there didn't seem to be anything left to build on, did it?

Not without Sam being all withdrawn and distant.

Dean felt like one of the monsters he's been hunting all his life. He felt worse than that even. Having Sam watch, trying to deal, when he obviously couldn't. And how could he possibly deal with that …

Dean wasn't sure if it was alright for Sam having him around. He wasn't sure if he was even supposed to feel entitled to be at the man's side now and any other time in the future.

Even if it hadn't been truly him – it was still his face. His appearance. His smell. Something that had lingered somewhere deep inside of him for so long.

Simply everything about Dean had to trigger Sam's memories about the day everything went south and everything that had come along later on.

Sure, Dean had changed his shower-gel and aftershave. He even had disposed the clothes he owned and bought new ones – different ones – in hopes, that it'd get easier. Not just for Sam, but also for himself.

Dean had no clue what was going on in Sam's head right now. Usually he could tell how the man was feeling. Now he wasn't anymore. Sam was practically unreadable.

Or the hunter was blinded by his own distress.

Sam wouldn't try to talk about what had happened. It seemed as if he was far away. _Gone_. As if his very soul had been torn from his form and wiped from the world's face. - At least most of the time.

Sometimes there were moments, when he would look at Dean, fully aware of his surroundings and the man beside him obviously, but it seemed as if Sam was debating with himself about something then.

Like he wasn't quite sure if this was _real_. If this was _Dean_ beside him.

Sometimes he'd look at him, as if the hunter had something in his face. Sam would watch him intently then and it looked as if he was – all over _again_ – debating with himself in his mind.

Sometimes he'd ask Dean things. How Bobby was. If he'd leave again when night came around (The current time of the year equated nightfall with the end of the visiting-hours). What Dean had for dinner. If he wasn't tired of sticking around.

Sometimes Sam would ask things only Dean would be able to answer …

Sometimes he seemed to try and figure out – by asking all those questions – if he needed _proof_ , that Dean was _real_. Someone made of flesh and blood.

_SPN_

Sam was mostly awake during the days, except for the afternoons when he'd take a nap. It seemed to Dean as if it was some kind of drifting off into unconsciousness.

He's been taken to tests and ultrasounds of his stomach every couple of days, which Dean figured was weird, but since Sam's doctor had assured him, that it were all routine-tests, he didn't question it any further.

Sam had to stay in bed except when he needed to visit the toilet – and even then he was supposed to use a wheelchair.

Not that he was able to move around on his own anyway so far … Sam felt like a damn fucking liability to everyone. And then there was Dean. _Dean trying so hard_ – just by staying with him – made it even harder on him.

Sam hadn't been supposed to survive. He's been ready to go, to fucking leave this world behind.

He felt as if he was drowning.

Drowning in the nothingness of his mind and very soul. It was a luring sensation of warmth and calm calling for him, trying to lull him into a wrong kind of safety.

He didn't know how he was supposed to act around Dean, around the nurses and doctors who came and went. He had no clue about who he even was supposed to be anymore.

He didn't want to talk. He didn't want to move, or eat or whatever else he was supposed to do for a living. His body hurt.

_His soul hurt._

Everything and everyone made him feel bad for who he was and the way he was right now. He felt as if he was connected to the world by a thin threat, ready to tear at any moment. Sam wouldn't be mad if it would finally rip though, he figured.

This place – this body – wasn't where he wanted to be anymore.

It wasn't as if it mattered anyway.

He was done. He didn't want to.

Hell, Sam didn't even know what he didn't want, or if there was still something he wanted to. He felt torn. Ripped to shreds, and he wasn't even sure why exactly. Sam knew, that his condition had to do with Dean being cursed, but then again – Sam didn't know anything anymore, did he?

He didn't know why he'd flinch away wherever Dean tried to get in contact with him somehow. He kept on seeing him with black eyes, though his rational mind told him that they were gone, that there wasn't one bad fiber within Dean anymore.

He knew that.

_And then he didn't know anything anymore._

It was all so confusing.

Sometimes he wasn't sure if he was awake or asleep. Sometimes, his nightmares seemed so real, and then he'd snap out of it, and he found himself in the hospital-bed instead of the examination-chair. A nurse would be at his side, waking him up, telling him, that he was _safe_ , and that he was at the hospital.

These people didn't know what was out there, so how could they dare and say that he was safe and that he was okay.

Because he so wasn't okay. He would never be again. Not with what had been broken loose in his mind. Not with the barrier between him and the things he had cast away into black small boxes, had crumbled mercilessly.

It was hard on him.

Hard to act as if he wasn't about to spill his marbles all over the floor.

So he stayed awake when Dean was there – at least as good as he could. He kept his mouth shut, and wouldn't talk, so that he couldn't possibly make it worse for all of them. For him. For Dean. For Bobby.

Specially Dean wasn't supposed to know. He couldn't live with him knowing, about what was going on, about how he was about to loose his mind.

Dean wouldn't forgive himself, Sam could see that wherever he'd steal looks from him, trying to figure out if this was a dream and Dean'd walk up to him and rip him apart, or if this was _real_ and nothing bad would happen at all. Sometimes he just wasn't sure, despite the fact, that it should be clear as day to him.

He knew, that Dean would feel even worse if he'd know about all that. He couldn't let that happen. Sam had told doctor Reign (obviously Dean preferred to call him a fabric-softener-teddy-bear), that no one was supposed to know. Specially not Dean and Bobby. Neither of them were allowed to get told what was happening when he was alone at night. _In the dark._ Dreaming.

So he kept to himself, so not to give away anything. Sam didn't want Dean and the old man to have to deal with his problems. Because he himself had to regain a grip onto himself again. He himself had to find a way to lock those things up in one of those boxes in his mind again, and store them at the very back, where no one ever would find them again.

_SPN_


	2. Taking Care

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean's going to get protective in this one :)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am finally done rewriting this after the computer crashed ^^ YAY!!! 
> 
> Thank YOU to all the silent-readers, kudo-button-pushers, comment-givers & follow-upers :)

**CHAPTER 2 ~ TAKING CARE**

Dean sat in the recliner beside the window, which was a couple of feet away from Sam's bed, studying a magazine he picked up earlier.

He stole a glance at Sam, and then at the clock above the door, which read that it was short before ten.

The kid had seemed responsive when they came with breakfast an hour ago. Sam had uttered a few words. “Thanks ma'am” and “Have a nice shift.” He had eyed Dean – again – curiously before wishing him a good morning paired with a tight smile.

Dean had said his “Good morning” too and had added an apologizing smile. Apologizing because he still felt like shit and hurt and torn apart. There was this unseen barrier between the both men, which neither of them was able to overpass. It felt like a thin layer of something, keeping them apart. Of course Dean knew what this something was.

It was everything that had happened. It was made of all the emotions it rose inside of him, and that he wasn't able to read Sam as he was used to. He couldn't tell – at least when Sam seemed to be around mentally – that _this Sam_ still wanted him to be there, and what kind of feelings it caused, when the Winchester _was_ around.

Dean was determined none the less, to be there and just wait. Wait until Sam was ready for whatever he would be ready to anytime soon, or even never. He wouldn't let him down – again.

Sam had eaten, drunk, and as soon he was done, his expression changed again, into that _hollow one_ , as if all lights were out and no one home.

The nurses were delayed with Sam's daily routine of sponge-baths and renewing the dressings of his wounds. Usually two of them would come around at about 9 a.m.

Another look at the clock told the Winchester, that they were already one and a half hour overdue. If there wouldn't come anyone around in the upcoming five minutes, he'd take matters into his own hands and go get one of them to do their damn duty.

He needed an update on how Sam's feet were doing, on how the scarred initials on his chest were healing, which he had carved into the kid's flesh weeks ago – because, even if they were already nearly healed, and didn't look _that_ irritated anymore, he just needed to fucking KNOW. To have a look at them, reassuring himself, that there was an end to – at least – his physical healing foreseeable.

_SPN_

Dean laid the magazine aside and was about to get up with a frustrated sigh, when the door to Sam's room opened and a tall muscular male man in hospital’s gown entered.

“Hey. - I'm Jeffrey, and I'm on duty for you today.”, he ranted instantly, not looking at either of the man in the room, before the door slid shut behind him.

When his look caught on Dean he perked up and gave him a tight smile.

“And who are you?”, Dean asked gruffly – of course he had understood that this was Jeffrey and on duty for today, _but hey_ , he's never seen this guy around before.

“'m sorry. - We've kind of a shortage on stuff today, so I'm helping out.” _… and I'm in a damn fucking hurry_ , he seemed to add in his mind.

Dean gave a rather disapproving grunt.

Jeffrey took a deep breath. “So … I need to ask you to leave the room for as long as I'm taking care of our patient.”, it was not even a _question_. It wasn't a request either. It was _a damn fucking order_ , and Dean Winchester was so not doing orders.

To make his point, Dean leaned back in the recliner and reached for the magazine he dumped earlier. - He didn't like the guy. Not in the least. Of course, Jeffrey hadn't done anything to piss him really off _yet_ and maybe it was just one of these days, where Dean Winchester was pissed off in general, but maybe it wasn't and he just couldn't stand the man's odor.

“First: Shouldn't there be two of you anyway?”, the hunter asked, both eyebrows cocked, a warning undertone in his voice to not fuck up Sam any more as he already was.

For Dean – and for as much as he's seen so far when they took care of _his man_ (because Sam was still HIS man, no matter what) – it was easier when there were two of them, turning him, tending his wounds – specially his giant feet.

“Like I said, short on stuff, mister.” The nurse was becoming grumpy by the sounds of it.

Dean nodded at that – not approving any more than earlier to what the man said.

“Second: Me, fabric-softener-teddybear and the nurses have an agreement, that I'm staying in the room as long as I'm not in the way.” Dean rose the magazine. “And I certainly won't get in your way.”

Jeffrey seemed to ponder that for a long moment, then pursed his lips. Jeffrey wasn’t up for any kind of discussion as it seemed. AND he obviously couldn't stand Dean either – for what reasons ever.

“Fine.”, Jeffrey crumbled and took off towards the bathroom.

Dean listened to the rustling of towels being gathered, and a bowl being filled with water. Though he had his nose buried in the magazine, he didn't read a single word, nor did he knowledge the pictures.

His one and only attention was given to the nurse and therefore Sam's wellbeing.

A couple of minutes later, Jeffrey emerged from the bathroom, towels thrown over his shoulders and the metal-bowl with steaming water in both hands.

“So.”, the nurse sighed, when he placed the bowl on the nightstand and took the remote of the bed in his hand. “I'm going to clean you up.”, he added, when he pushed the button so the bed would elevate into a more comfortable height for him.

Dean eyed the man out of the corners of his eyes. He wasn't cool with how this was starting. Mister-douchebag-nurse hadn't even TRIED to do anything to make himself known to Sam. – To get the kid’s attention.

Did he even KNOW? Haven't they told him in which condition Sam was?

What the hell? Were they serious?

Anger and fury bubbled up inside Dean’s stomach, firing up his guts, daring him to stand up and slap the nurse across the face.

“You had a look into his file before coming in here?”, Dean asked cautiously.

The nurse sighed and gave the man in the recliner a rather annoyed look, asking him without words if he was even supposed to answer him.

“No, sir. - Like I said -”, he started.

“I know. Short on stuff, right?”, Dean ended his answer without bothering to look up.

There was a beat of silence.

“ _First_ : His name's Sam. _Second_ : He's been messed up bad. You could probably tell without checking his file. _Third_ : He probably haven't noticed you're here.”, Dean stated, cleared his throat and swallowed down the massive lump of anger rising inside of him like sour acrid bile.

“Look mister. - I know how to do my job.” Obviously Dean was starting to get on his nerves. “Either you keep it, or I'll have to order you to leave the room.”

Dean gave him a daring look, his jaw set, his eyes sparkling in that dangerous and feral way they'd do whenever something or someone was threatening what was dear to him.

Punching the guy in the throat would've been nice right now – somehow satisfyingly settling. But Dean Winchester kept his reason. Him throwing punches at a nurse would do nothing good. They'd ban him from the ward probably …

“I'll stay.”, Dean gave – somehow – in, but wouldn't let it slip completely. One wrong move from the guy, and he'd be dead meat. No matter about the outcome.

When Sam lay flat before the man, he drew the comforters back without forewarning.

Something deep inside of Dean cringed at that, and twisted his guts into tight knots. Though, instead of causing another discussion and him daring the nurse to really throw him out, he kept his mouth shut TIGHT.

“SO … Sam?”, Jeffrey said, already about to free the body before him from the hospital's gown.

Sam kept staring into nothingness, right through the nurse.

Jeffrey didn't seem to be bothered at all and kept on working clinically.

“Sam?”, this time more demanding.

Dean swallowed a growl, as he continued to watch the man from the corners of his eyes.

There was a faint sound. Barely audible for someone who wasn't high alert to every noise being made in the room, like Dean was.

The nurse carried on as he tipped the sponge into the steaming water.

  
Dean was asking himself if the guy even had bothered to test the water's temperature …

“ _No_...”, Sam's lips moved, his voice distant.

The hunter perked up from the magazine, and straightened up in the recliner, his eyes narrowing on the naked man on the bed.

Not that Dean could possibly see it from the angle he was in, but he sure could sense something shift in the room's atmosphere.

“Please ...”, it was a mere whisper. “Don't … Please.”

Jeffrey wrought the sponge out, and was about to clean up Sam's face with it – at least the motion told Dean Winchester so.

Though, before the nurse could even get near his face with the wet sponge, Dean jumped up from his seat and dropped the magazine on it.

Enough was enough.

“You know what?”, Dean spat at the nurse, already heading for him. “I'll do that.” … him getting Sam cleaned up would be better, than leaving him at the mercy of some stressed out, drained and short-tempered nurse, who didn't even realize a patient's distress over what was happening even if Sam would’ve been yelling it right into his damn fucking face.

The nurse startled and his gaze wiped towards the approaching man.

“What?”, before he could mutter any other word, Dean wrenched the sponge from the man's hand and shoved him – not very gently – out of the way, bringing himself between Jeffrey and the bed.

“You go, take care of someone else. - I'll take care of Sam.” He waved at the man, telling him to fuck off. To get fucking LOST.

The way he said it didn't leave room for any kind of protest. Dean actually held himself back, so not to shove the man away further from Sam bed, as he already had.

Jeffrey rose both hands in defeat, showing his palms to the Winchester and made a step backwards. He seemingly understood in an instant, that Dean wouldn't let him go back to his task.

“Fine.”, Jeffrey pursed his lips, his eyes open wide. “He's all yours.” He took another step backwards. “Call if you need something though.”

Dean pursed his lips, thinking for a moment. “Yeah. Yeeh, there's somethin'.” He cleared his throat, took a calming inhale and then exhaled slowly. “How about you fuck off and – by all means – don't come back. Get me whatever we'll need to get his dressings changed, and just … you know … get _lost_.”

Oh, Dean Winchester was a nice guy. He could've called the nurse names, could've used a fairly mad amount of curses, but he actually didn't.

Jeffrey only nodded, despite that he had opened his mouth to say something, but obviously decided it would be better not to piss Dean off any more.

When the Jeffrey left, he closed the door to Sam’s room, and Dean took a few calming breaths. He dropped the sponge back into the bowl and turned towards Sam on his heels.

Dean caught the younger man's former empty gaze, which told him that Sam NOW seemed to be there with him. His look not as distant and hollow anymore. There could be sparks of life seen in them, lighting them up.

“Sammy?”, Dean asked, holding the kid's look. He waited for a couple of seconds.

There was a flicker of something in Sam's eyes.

“I'm gonna take care of you now, okay? I'll give you a nice warm spongebath.”, despite the still bubbling anger in Dean's guts he showed nothing of it, when he kept his voice soft and gentle.

He then – trying not to break that rare kind of contact he had to Sam at the moment – pulled the comforter back up, so that it covered his legs and private parts again.

“Dean?” Another spark of life in Sam's eyes, pupils dilated and pulling together again, showing more of the hazel-green with brown sparkles in them.

“Yeah.” Dean tested the water-temperature with his little finger.

Sam's eyes narrowed, slowly but surely more and more signs of life filled them. The features of his face altered from this blank expression into something haunted and eventually questioning lines appeared on Sam's face.

_SPN_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't think this sequel is only about Sam dealing with the fallout ^^ Shit is going to hit the fan at some point. Not now. Not in the next chapter ... but it will ... I promise ;)


	3. Altered

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You sure are wondering where this is going, to fill up 13 chapters ... ^^

## CHAPTER 3 ~ ALTERED

“Are you ...”, Sam started, may not quite sure what he wanted to ask, or stopping himself from asking as he could possibly give away something he didn't want to. Dean wasn't sure.

 _Real_ \- he finished Sam's question in his mind. The hunter kept on smiling, not letting the eerie feeling claiming him be shown.

“Am I what?” It took everything to not let his voice break.

 _Real_. - echoed through the hunter's mind. Sam was asking if he was _real_. Oh, and Dean Winchester could so not do that right now. He fucking couldn’t. “I'm going to make this the most awesome sponge-bath you've got so far.”

The younger man tilted his head to the side, still curious, before his gaze roamed through the room warily, before returning it to the hunter's sparkling emerald-green eyes.

“It's _you_ ...”, Sam sounded rather surprised at that realization.

“It's me, baby boy.”, he said reassuringly. “It's okay if we start? Don't want the water getting' cold.”

A ghost of a smile traveled over Sam's face, when he gave him a curt nod.

“It's nice to see that you're with me.”, Dean said ever so softly, when he started to remove the bandage from Sam's chest and his lower stomach where he had the surgery. He traced the initials D.W. with his looks, memories of what he'd done and how it had felt back then in the moment welling up in him.

And with them the disgust and agony those memories caused.

Though, Dean did his best to remain unreadable to Sam.

“I've missed you ..:”, it may would cause Sam to try and hold onto this world and not the one he tended to withdraw these days. - At least if Dean was still reason enough to be held onto.

The hunter hoped – prayed – that it was that way.

“Missed you too.”, Sam murmured and shifted slightly.

He kept perfectly still while Dean tended his aching body with warm water and soft towels. He followed Dean's every move in – what looked like amazement – as if the older man was the most important thing in this room. In his entire life. Happiness and bliss filled the atmosphere around them, sated in perfect silence, which lingered there.

Sam turned over then, when Dean nudged at his hips.

At some point the atmosphere turned heavy and was filled with sadness slowly.

Dean hadn't even realized it, too sunken in his thoughts, until Sam spoke up and broke the silence. “I still love you, Dean.”

You shouldn't … Dean would've answered, but bit his tongue, so not to ruin the moment. - Sam's state of being aware and really there with Dean in the same place at the same time was too precious.

“Maybe I'm … I'll spill my marbles all over the floor and maybe ...” Sam exhaled audibly.   
Dean looked up, and stilled, waiting for Sam to continue.

But he didn't.

Dean's forehead furrowed with worry. “And … _maybe_?”, he asked.

There was nothing.

Dean felt Sam's deep breaths under his flat palm.

“Sammy?”, he asked curiously.

He let Sam roll onto his back gently and was welcomed with a pair of empty, hollow eyes staring back at him.

The hunter cursed audibly, the sharp sting of tears in his eyes. He felt them tearing up, he felt himself swaying for a moment and he braced himself onto the mattress beneath him, so to support his weak growing knees.

Dean closed his eyes for a moment, tears dropping from his face and onto the sheets between his hands.

It took him a couple of moments to regain control over his body again, to calm his aching heart and hurting lungs down again.

This wasn't supposed to happen ever. Why would fate be that malicious to him? What was the point in giving him something to love, and then taking it away from him again in such a cruel way?

Dean Winchester sucked in a shuddering breath. When he opened his eyes again, there were still empty hazel-green ones staring back through him, reminding him of the task at hand.

That Sam needed him. Now more than ever.

So, he would do that.

He would take care of him. Would care _for_ him – in every way he would need.

_SPN_

After the incident with the nurse, and Dean Winchester's disapproval of nurses ever again taking care of what was _his_ , an arrangement was made up, that it was Dean's task to take care of Sam's personal care from then on.

Only for redressing and patching up Sam's injuries, a nurse would come around. And only because it had to do with some stupid hospital’s policy which had to be followed.

And Dean Winchester was okay with that. As long as it was truly necessary.

SPN

Then the authorities came.

The police, FBI, … They were investigating the murders in Sioux Falls and Little Falls. Somehow, they managed to connect the murders with Sam’s case. Obviously, the way the bodies had been found – the way they had gotten carved up – and the way Sam had been hurt did have a matching pattern.

The FBI-Agents were some lucky bastards, since Sam was awake and coherent enough to be questioned, when they showed up.

Dean had to leave the room. Dean was not amused.

But not because he was afraid, Sam would tell them about what really had happened in the asylum, but because they’d make him remember. They’d make him withdraw again. They’d ask him stuff he shouldn’t be asked.

As it was, they questioned Dean afterwards and as the seasoned hunter and fake-agent he was, he got around with them pretty easy.

Obviously, Sam had not left a single word about Dean as they were questioning him.

_SPN_

It was shy past 11 pm, when Dean's phone started to vibrate, buzzing against the surface of the nightstand.

Bobby sat at the table in Dean's motel-room, before him, four phones laid out, everyone marked with another authorities ID on it. He's being on phone-duty for Rufus the entire day, who was currently hunting a Strigha somewhere in Iowa.

Dean was emerging from the bathroom, as he had been washing away the hospital's stench. He wore sweatpants and a loose shirt already for bed, since he wanted to be earlier at the hospital in the morning, talking to Sam's doc on duty.

Dean had a pair of batman-socks in his left hand, which would match his underwear perfectly. Because he was fucking batman, and even if no one could see them, he could practically feel the batmaniac source of power radiating through him and from him.

A second later, _back in black_ started to blare, shrill and piercing.

“About time you get another phone, don't ya?”, Bobby yelled above the nerve-wrecking tunes and gave him a glare. He was not amused at all.

Sure, the speakers were still damaged, but other than that it was doing its job just fine.

Dean grinned and winked at the older man. He kind of enjoyed bothering him with shit like that – just for the sake of it.

Bobby gave him another glare. “Sounds like a damn Banshee's 'bout to come for ya'...”

Dean's grin widened and patted over to the nightstand. “Can't miss a call that way.”

The hunter eyed the display for a moment, not recognizing the number at first. He picked up though, silencing the horrible sounds echoing through the room.

“Dean Young.”, he spoke. He looked over to where his friend was sitting, catching up on Bobby's questioning look. “Hospital”, Dean mouthed towards him, and sat down on the bed.

“Yeah?”, he asked, a bit distracted by pulling on his socks, adjusting them so that batman's yellow eyes were staring right up at him.

Dean listened, tugging on his socks so they wouldn’t pinch. The former amused expression on his face morphed into something curious, shortly followed by a worried one, changing into something rather concerned.

Bobby gave him the “what's -up” look as he rose to his feet.

“Sam”, Dean mouthed, as he got up from the bed. “No.”, he said into the phone, then listened again. “No, wait.” He started to strip his sweatpants down and went for his duffel, pants still around his ankles. 

The nurse kept talking, her voice piercing and at least as shrill as Dean's ringtone.

“I'm there in 15. - Just ...” He cursed, as he didn't find what he was looking for in an instant. “Wait until I'm there.”

“What is it?”, Bobby asked, his voice revealing that he was on high-alert and ready to take off too.

“Sam messed up a nurse's nose.”, he answered grumpily, pulling jeans from the duffel. “Seems he's having nightmares. When they tried to wake him, he lashed out on _Jeffrey the nurse_.”

_SPN_

**Author's Note:**

> Updates on Sundays!


End file.
